Love Letters
by cassandra quail
Summary: The Joker gets his hands on some of Harley's letters to Poison Ivy and vows to get her back. Rated M in anticipation of some sex and violence, with a content warning for abusive behaviour.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I love the Harley/Ivy pairing, and thought it might be interesting to write something more focused on the Joker's reaction to it.

* * *

><p>The Joker was furiously pacing in his cell at Arkham, holding onto a handful of papers which he couldn't quite bring himself to look at yet. He narrowed his eyes as an image of Harley appeared in his mind.<p>

_So it's true, is it...?_

Everyone had heard the rumours, of course. Harley and Poison Ivy were an item now – but Joker knew better. Harley was _his_. She always had been, ever since that fateful rose, and always would be. Once the Joker gets under your skin, you're never quite the same again, especially if you're a weak-willed, hopeless nutcase like Harley.

Harley had her charms though. She had looked after him well, he supposed, and was an acceptable sidekick. Even if she was clumsy and dimwitted at times, she was always so eager to please him; she did anything he asked her to, no questions asked. Which had been truly fantastic in the bedroom...

"Ugh, and to think people are saying she'd do those things for _Pammie_."

The papers crumpled in his hand. His knuckles were even whiter than usual as his ugly skin stretched over tight fists. The papers caught his attention again. He'd pulled a lot of strings on the outside to convince Harvey to get hold of these probably meaningless letters for him (_probably _meaningless, but he just had to be sure). He supposed he may as well read them, and settle the matter once and for all.

Harley belonged to him and only him. All these letters to Poison Ivy would contain is the kind of worthless drivel he never cared to listen to. So, what was he waiting for?

He opened the first letter, immediately recognising Harley's scrawl on the flowery writing paper. He began to read in a mocking voice.

_Hey Red!_

_I feel a bit silly writing when we're in the same building and all, but getting only a few lousy hours of leisure time each day makes me awfully lonely. I can see the vegetables we planted through the bars of my window, and all I can think about is you, you, you._

Joker laughed. "Oh, Harley, you sound so pathetic! No wonder they've got you locked up with extra medication."

_I'm glad you're here in Arkham, Ivy. I mean, I'm not glad Batman dragged you back in here, but at least we're together again. There are so many things about you I didn't realise I would miss until I found myself stuck in here alone. The way you make me smile, the happiness that bubbles up inside me every time I catch your eye... I even miss that look you get when you're mad or frustrated with me._

"Sentimental _garbage." _Joker waved a dismissive hand, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut.

_What I miss about you most, though – and don't you dare laugh at me, Red – is the nights we spent together. I'm getting all flustered now as I remember how you make me feel – even as I just lie next to you with your red hair tickling my face, drinking in your scent as your chest gently rises and falls with each breath. I wish I slept as well as you do. God knows I don't sleep here._

_I want you here with me, Ivy. I want you to kiss my neck and make me squirm. I want to feel your warm, healing lips all over my poor unloved body. I want you to tease me until I can't take it any more. I want your strong fingers inside me, sliding over my clit and making me feel so good all I can do is scream. I want to tug at and tease the unruly hair between your legs, exploring with my fingers and kissing your most sensitive areas. I want you to do the same to me._

_Most of all, I want to get the hell out of Arkham so we can be close again. Our restrained interactions here are painful. And you know what? I've gotten myself so worked up writing this letter I can feel myself throbbing... I'm aching for you, Red. Guess there's only one way to deal with that, huh? I hope you're thinking of me as you do the same..._

_All my love,_

_Harley._

Joker's voice was no longer mocking. It was shrill, disbelieving. Enraged, he scrambled to look through the other letters, and upon finding them all expressing similar sentiments yelled, "HARLEEEEY!"

He was banging on the door of his cell, shouting obscenities, describing how he was really going to get her this time... How _dare_ she say such things to anyone else. Let alone Poison Ivy – of all people, what could Harley possibly see in that misanthropic plant lady? Sure, she had a reputation among the Arkham crowd, but where was her _style_? Where was her _humour_? He was rattling his door so loudly it sounded as though it might come off its hinges. Security guards came rushing over; he was forced into a straightjacket and fed a strong sedative.

Still, his outburst had been heard almost throughout the asylum. Poison Ivy listened eagerly, her lips twisted in a smug smile. Hearing that psychopath suffering gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling quite unlike anything else. He deserved to suffer, even more than the Bat, for the way he'd treated Harley.

"She's not yours now, you twisted bastard," murmured Ivy.

She would have to thank Harvey for his help. As much as it had pained her to give those beautiful, treasured letters to him, getting revenge on the Joker, however small or petty, made it all worthwhile.

* * *

><p>It was just past two in the morning, and most of the inmates of Arkham were asleep. Joker was pacing again in his new cell in the isolation unit. At least here he could <em>think<em> without having to compete with Eddie's sleepy ramblings in one ear and Croc's snoring in the other.

Anger had given way to his special brand of cool, twisted logic. Harley would remember her place and come crawling back to him sooner or later, just as she always did. But it was what she did in the mean time that perturbed him, and _who_ she did it with. Joker liked to think of himself as above jealousy, especially when it came to Harley. Oh, it was fine for _her_ to cling to him, to stew in possessive jealousy every time he ignored her... He liked that. He liked watching her huge puppy-dog eyes beg him for forgiveness every time she screwed up (and boy did that girl screw up a lot) and her recklessly unquestioning devotion. It was endearing, but rather pathetic. And the Clown Prince of Crime was _not_ pathetic.

"That's it!" He laughed maniacally. "I'll write some letters of my own. Oh Harley-girl, you're going to regret ever crossing the Joker! I'll sort out our little Pam problem once and for all..."

An unhinged laugh echoed through every corridor as he worked out the finer details of his plan. A few floors down, Harley tossed and turned and cried out in her sleep, as though somehow she knew he wanted to hurt her.


	2. Chapter 2

After two long days of following Arkham's rules to the letter and a bit of charm and subtle manipulation worked on his doctor (the poor fool was almost as malleable as _Harleen Quinzel_ had been), the Joker was free of the isolation unit. It was dinner time, and he was absent-mindedly playing with the unappealing brown slop on the plate in front of him, watching the other inmates queue up for their food.

Harvey was flipping that coin of his to decide on potatoes or rice. Harley was stood at the back of the queue, chewing gum and scanning the room. She briefly caught his eye, and he gave her a grin and a little wave. She looked away quickly, and turned around slightly to avoid looking at him again. Joker's lips remained frozen in his ghastly grin, but really he was asking himself, _What is Harley so afraid of?_

Harley didn't seem to notice as people pushed in front of her. She just kept looking at the entrance with hopeful eyes, until at last a wide smile stretched across her face. It was Pam, of course. Joker's eyes narrowed as he watched her sidle up to Harley; their hands briefly closed around each other and Pam flashed him a smug smile, before kissing her cheek. His grin was now a sneer, and he found that his shaking fists had been clenched so tight he had bent his cutlery.

He rose from his seat, the uneaten meal still sitting on his tray. Harvey was sitting a couple of tables down from him. His coin had favoured potatoes this time, but he was clearly not enjoying them. Joker sat down opposite him.

"Hello, Harv," he said, his voice low. "I must thank you for getting those letters for me, but I'm afraid your work isn't quite over yet."

Harvey didn't even look at him as he replied, "We made a deal. I don't owe you a thing."

"Well..." Joker pretended to consider Harvey's words. "Deals can change, I'm afraid. If you don't help me, I'll make sure that if you ever get out of here, you'll wish you'd come out in a box. You know how much influence I have on the outside... Surely at least half of you is sensible enough to do as I ask?"

"You're lucky that half of me wants to get out early for good behaviour, because you're pushing your god-damn luck, Joker," snarled Harvey. "What do you want this time?"

"All I need is you to deliver a couple of letters for me. That's all." He grinned. "See now, Harv? It's barely a favour at all... Especially considering what you have to lose."

Harvey grunted his agreement, before picking up his tray and leaving the table before the Joker could provoke him any further.

Joker chuckled to himself loudly. Half the inmates turned to look at him, but he didn't notice. All he could think about was getting Harley away from Pammie's pheromones and back into his arms.

* * *

><p>After acquiring some paper and a pen in his leisure hours, Joker returned early to his cell to make sure he had plenty of time to write. He had spent hours and hours in isolation studying Harley's script and style, and was confident in his ability to forge it. There were two hours before lights out in which to get to work; he sat on his bed, and knew immediately how to start.<p>

_Hey Red,_

_I've been doing a lot of thinking tonight... I've been awake the whole time actually. Tossing, turning and tossing and turning some more. It's enough to drive a gal crazy, and you know what's causing it? Seeing you around Arkham all the time. It's just too painful._

He paused to admire his work.

"No, no, that's not enough..."

He put the pen back to paper, fighting to keep a steady hand while he laughed.

_I guess there's something else I've been wanting to talk about too. I still have feelings for my Puddin'. There, I said it. Every time I see him across the room looking all sad, my heart breaks a little bit more, and I feel guilty. I don't think anyone will ever love me like my Mistah J..._

"I never knew how much fun this would be!"

Joker was reading and re-reading the letter in the same mocking voice he'd used to read Harley's real letter, but his own cruel words gave him far more satisfaction.

_I'm sorry, Ivy, but I just don't think I can do this any more. I'll stay out of your way for a while if you'll stay out of mine._

_Harley._

"Perfect! If only I could be there to see Pammie's face when she reads it..."

He folded the note carefully and hid it under his pillow. The next letter would present more of a challenge, but he knew from experience that Harley was a "throw a fit first, ask questions later" kind of girl. The poor bimbo probably wouldn't notice the handwriting was off until it was too late. Still, he thought he'd better keep it short and sweet.

_Harley,_

_I don't think this is going to work any more. As lonely as it is in Arkham, I think we're better off spending some time apart._

_Ivy._

He put this note with the other, ready to pass to Harvey tomorrow, and hid the pen and paper under his mattress. He rubbed his hands together with an excited grin and climbed into bed. _Tomorrow, Harley... Tomorrow __you're mine again__._

* * *

><p>Dinner time the following day had been just perfect, Joker thought as he got into bed for the night. It was everything he could have hoped for and then some. Harley had caused such a scene she was down in isolation. Silly girl should have known better than to throw her weight around like that, but it meant that she wouldn't see or talk to Pam again until he'd arranged their glorious escape. If Harley ever figured out who really wrote those letters, she'd be too far gone, twisted around his little finger, to leave. It was <em>perfect<em>.

Joker had made sure he was in the dining hall promptly, and chose a seat in the back corner, where he could see as much as possible. Harley was chewing gum again as she queued up, but her usual cheerfulness was gone. Her eyes were a little red and her eyebrows furrowed. She quietly got on with getting her tray of pasta, avoiding catching anyone's eye. Joker chuckled.

"Oh dear, Harley-girl, did someone make you mad?" he muttered under his breath.

She took her tray and placed it at the opposite side of the room, near the entrance, with her back to the Joker. She was mumbling to herself and moving the food around on her plate, but very little of it made it to her mouth.

Poison Ivy walked coolly past Harley's table to join the queue, and within seconds Harley's tray was clattering on the floor after bouncing off Ivy's head.

"Get away from me!"

Harley was yelling, and two guards rushed to restrain her.

Ivy blinked. "I should have known this would happen," she said with a sneer. She pushed her way back out of the dining hall and was escorted back to her cell.

Joker caught Harley's eye from across the room, and gave her a sly smile. She seemed to calm down for a moment, but then she tried to rip her arms free and the guards struggled to keep her contained. She struggled and kicked and even tried to bite one of them as they dragged her away to the isolation unit.

Joker threw his head back and cackled. Perfect, perfect, perfect!


	3. Chapter 3

It was time to put one of the Joker's many escape plans into practice. When the authorities and vigilantes alike are on to you, it doesn't hurt to make contingency plans for when you get caught. It was winter, and he'd already done the Christmas theme to death. It just wasn't funny any more. Which admittedly limited his options somewhat. Of course there were always the more mundane escape routes. Digging tunnels, smuggling in contraband... But _anyone_ could do that. No, his escape would have to be something only the Joker could pull off.

There was a knock on his cell door.

"It's time for your therapy session."

A doctor with a greying brown ponytail and large, round glasses entered. She was holding a clipboard and fiddling with the clip.

"Already, Grace? It seems like much less than a day since we last saw each other."

She cleared her throat. "You are to call me Doctor Wilson. Can I sit down?"

"But of course." Joker motioned to the chair in the corner of his room, adding under his breath, "Not that I have any choice."

Doctor Wilson ignored his last remark, and sat down, clipboard at the ready.

"So, how are we doing today?" Her voice sounded like plastic, cheerful and fake.

"Fine, fine. Could be better, I suppose," he said, looking sideways at her as she began to take notes. What could she be writing, he wondered, when he'd said so little?

"What do you mean you could be better?" she asked, her pen poised ready to continue her industrious scribbling just as soon as he started talking again.

He needed to play up to her sympathies. He looked sadly at his hands clasped together and resting on his stomach and said, "I'm missing my poor Harley. She must be terribly lonely stuck over in isolation, and I hate to think of her being unhappy. Won't you let me get a message to her?"

The doctor sighed. "You know I can't do that. I'm sure Harley will be out soon enough, when she's feeling a little better. You can speak to her then during your leisure time."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I know I shouldn't ask these things, but it was worth a try, wouldn't you say?"

Grace was being very guarded today. She barely acknowledged his last comment, though her hand carried on writing as though it had a life of its own. He tried a change of tack.

"You know, you remind me an awful lot of Harley."

"So you've told me," she said. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes were fixed on the clipboard. She was starting to get nervous.

"She came here all hopeful and doe-eyed... She was a promising young doctor at some point, and just look at her now!" He laughed. "I did a good job with that woman. I set her _free_."

"You drove her insane." Grace's even voice was just a tiny bit higher than usual.

"One man's freedom is another man's insanity, you're quite right of course," said Joker. He sat up in bed and gave the doctor a grimace. He leaned close to her and whispered, "Which would it be for you?"

"I-insanity," she said, swallowing hard. "Harleen is certifiably insane, as are you. That's why you're here. Now, shall we get back on topic?"

"What if all of this is important, hmm? Perhaps what you're hearing now will lead you to the root of my problems, and then you'll be able to fix me. Isn't that what you want? To fix us all?"

"You-you're getting yourself wound up, Joker." Grace looked pointedly at the window of the cell to try and catch the guard's eye. "If you don't calm down, I'll have to have you sedated, maybe even taken to isolation yourself."

He sighed theatrically. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to play nice today."

Grace cleared her throat. Her hand was trembling a little as she wrote. Joker smiled to himself. She was almost exactly where he wanted her.

"Have you been sleeping?" She looked at him over the top of her glasses.

He twisted his smile and turned it upside down. "Not at all, Doctor. I've been lying awake all night, tossing and turning. Is there anything you can give me?"

She hesitated. Her lips were frozen as though she had been about to say something but decided against it before the words could form in her mouth.

"Oh, please, Doctor. _Grace_. I'd find these therapy sessions much easier if only I could sleep." He lowered his voice. "If you slept as little as I do, you'd probably be in here too."

She swallowed, making an odd face as she did, as though what little saliva was left in her mouth got caught and refused to budge. "I told you to call me – oh, never mind. Okay, I'll prescribe you some sleeping pills if you think they will help. You're to take them under strict supervision though."

"Will that be your supervision?" he asked, his eyes wide and sad.

Grace cleared her throat, shuffling on her chair as though she desperately needed to use the toilet. "Okay. I'll do it this _once_, but in future you'll have to put up with one of the nurses." She sighed. "I think that will be enough for today. You must be tired. I-I'll see you later."

She rose and quickly left the room, without looking behind her. A wide, ghastly grin grew on Joker's face. He would be getting out tonight.

There was a loud, quick knock on Joker's cell door. Was it bed time already? How exciting! How would he contain himself?

"It's time for your medication," came Grace's voice as the heavy door swung open.

"Ah, excellent," he said, unable to prevent the smallest of guffaws slipping out. He was all tucked up in bed, ready for a good night's sleep... Or so poor foolish Grace thought. How was it that some people were so like putty? Easy to mould into whatever you wanted them to be.

She brought a glass of water and a little white pill in a small paper cup, and shut the door before sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"Here's you're sleeping pill," she said. "It should start to take effect in about twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Grace," he said, picking up the pill and rolling it between his index finger and thumb. "Shame I won't be the one getting the benefit of it."

He quickly sat up and clapped his hand over Grace's mouth to muffle her scream. She was paralysed with fear, her wide eyes darting wildly around the room.

"Come on, Gracie, this won't hurt a bit." He parted his fingers and her lips just enough to push the pill inside. "Take the pill, there's a good girl." He passed her the water. "There, there, swallow it down."

Grace looked vainly at the door, but there was no guard outside. The stupid woman hadn't thought to tell anyone where she was. Supervising medication was so _routine_, she must have forgotten who she was dealing with. Shaking, she did as she was told.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice was quiet and obscured by Joker's hand, but he could just about make out her words.

"Now we wait," he said, with a grin. "In twenty minutes' time, you'll be my ticket out of here..."

"Who goes there?" A torch shone on the two shadowy figures making their way out of Arkham.

"Relax, it's me – Doctor Wilson," said the smaller figure, shielding her eyes from the glow of the torch. "My patient is feeling unwell, I'm just taking him out for some air. Don't worry, he's been sedated."

The security guard nodded. "Very well, Ma'am. It's getting late – you should get yourself home."

The Doctor smiled. "I've been doing a lot of overtime recently. Sometimes I don't even notice the time. I'll make sure I rest later."

"Well, I'd better be on my way. This place won't keep itself safe, that's for sure. Night, Doctor."

She watched the faint beam of light from his torch bob around the corner, and guided her patient down the long path to the large iron gate. She slid her identity card into the scanner. A little green light flashed and the gate clicked open.

"Well done Harley," whispered the patient.

"Only for you, Mistah J."


	4. Chapter 4

_...escaped from Arkham Asylum last night. A spokesperson for Arkham has warned that they are very dangerous criminals..._

"Change the channel, Harley. These newsflashes are starting to annoy me."

Harley was sitting cross-legged on the bed in their little room in the basement of an abandoned arcade, catching up on all the cartoons she'd missed during her stint in Arkham. To the Joker's frustration, the usual television schedule was being rudely interrupted at fifteen minute intervals to keep Gotham updated on the aftermath of his escape. How was a man supposed to think with the television talking about him like that? He lay back down and tried to block out the noise.

"I think they're on every channel..." she said with a shrug. She was flicking through the channels but the picture on the screen wasn't changing. She sighed and turned the television off. "But hey, I can think of somethin' a lot more fun we could be doin'..."

She traced her finger over his chest. It felt nice, but he batted her hand away. "Not now, Harley. I'm trying to _think_."

She pouted a little, before trying again. "Maybe a break would help ya think better." She was on her hands and knees in front of him, her negligee hanging down so that her nipples were tantalisingly close to spilling out. She had his attention now, especially when her lips brushed over his naked thighs. He grinned to himself as she slowly moved forward to straddle him.

She'd been even easier to win back than he expected. There was a bit of resistance at first when he unlocked her cell posing as a doctor. Harley didn't like to be alone with male doctors for some reason, and she nearly screamed as he entered. But then he smiled, and there was only one man in Gotham – probably only one man in the whole world – with a smile like that. She wasn't entirely convinced by the plan at first, but she hadn't taken much _persuading_ that escaping with her Puddin' was a good idea.

"C'mere, Harley-girl," he growled, and rolled Harley onto her back. Harley closed her eyes and felt the familiar rough kisses over her neck and face. She returned the kisses with fervour, grinding gently against the bulge in his novelty boxers.

As he studied her flushed face, a troubling thought crept into his mind. _Does she really want me? _He could dismiss it easily enough: _She always wanted me before. Besides, I'm the Joker, how could she _not_ want me? _But the thought was still there.

He drew back from her and, kneeling between her legs, he pulled the negligee up and over her head while Harley's hands played with the elastic of his underwear. He pulled the boxers down and eagerly positioned himself on top of her. She gave a little moan as he pushed smoothly inside her, and moved enthusiastically with his thrusts. She'd obviously not done this in a while. Whatever else Pammie could do, she could never give Harley _this_.

He was fucking her hard and she was panting and making noises which could have been pleasure, pain or some combination of the two – but it was okay, she liked that. She was his again now, and she'd like almost anything he did. _Oh, Harley... How did I ever let you leave me before?_ He felt a surge of love for her as he climaxed, shuddering and holding her close.

He flopped down onto her and she planted a few soft kisses on his forehead. There wasn't much time for cuddling before Harley started to wriggle uncomfortably beneath him. He sighed, rolled off her and curled up, facing the other way.

"Hey, Mistah J?" Harley asked timidly, sitting up. "There's some stuff I gotta sort out. Is it okay if I go out for a bit?"

Joker's eyes opened wide. "What kind of stuff is this, Harley?" He had all kinds of images of her in his head, from going out and single-handedly catching the Bat to busting her one-time lover out of Arkham (Pam had to be a one-time lover, a mistake, a moment of insanity even for Harley).

"Nothin' you need to worry about," she said. "So... Can I go?"

"If you must," he said with venom. "But you'd better be back later. I've got some big plans forming and I won't let you screw them up again."

She visibly recoiled from him, blinking just a bit more than usual. "Why did ya bother bustin' me out if I'm no good to ya?"

Joker sighed with impatience. "Harley, Harley, Harley... I didn't say you were no good to me. I said I _need_ you to come home later. So be a good girl and don't be too long, all right?"

"I won't." She rummaged through one of the drawers for some inconspicuous clothing, before heading to the bathroom to get dressed. On her way out, she poked her head around the door and gave a defeated, "See ya later, Puddin'."

He glared at the door after her. He wondered if he didn't regret busting that ungrateful bitch out after all.


	5. Chapter 5

"Remember Harley, _all_ you have to do is get us safely home. I'll handle the robbery itself."

The Joker was sat in the back, while Harley occupied the driver's seat. They were parked under the cover of a dark alleyway just around the corner from the museum.

"Sure thing, Mistah J," said Harley with a sigh.

She sounded so miserable. Why didn't she sound happy? She was free from Arkham! She was working for the one, the only Clown Prince of Crime! But there wasn't much time to reflect on Harley's state of mind when there was a museum waiting to be robbed. Tonight was nothing too spectacular, but the museum had recently acquired a valuable painting of a harlequin jester, which the Joker thought would pacify Harley, and more importantly give a clear signal to the Bat that he was _back_.

Harley pulled into the dark museum car park, coming to a jerky stop just outside the door.

"Don'tcha think this car's a little... conspicuous?"

"Don't be silly, Harley girl. I'm not _trying_ to hide," he snapped. "No, I want all of Gotham to know I'm here." He chuckled to himself as he tucked a small automatic handgun into his jacket pocket. "Now, be a good girl and be here to pick me up again in twenty minutes." He leaned forward and kissed her powdered cheek, before opening the door and climbing out. He gave the sullen woman a little wave as she reversed to turn around, and headed around the building towards the fire exit.

His pocket was full of little grenades. He took a red one, and rolled it between his index finger and thumb. He looked around the dimly lit car park surrounded by trees. Nobody there. With a devilish grin he threw it towards the glass doors; his maniacal laughter rang out as the tiny grenade exploded in a burst of purple flames, shattering all the glass nearby.

"These new grenades are brilliant," he murmured approvingly. "Even if I do say so myself."

The alarm was blaring as he stepped effortlessly through the hole in the wall where the fire exit used to be, wrinkling his nose and waving his hand as a stray plume of acrid smoke burned his nostrils.

"Now, to find the painting..." He prowled through the nearest darkened corridor. By now he had robbed the museum enough times to have completely memorised the layout. The painting was in the main gallery, probably still covered up, all ready for its big unveiling in the morning.

As he turned down the long gallery of old portraits, he heard footsteps behind him. He caught the dancing torch beam in the corner of his eye. Tutting, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two different grenades. One was a deep blue, the other was the same colour purple as his suit with a wide, malevolent grin printed on it.

"Shall I put you to sleep, or would you like a taste of my Joker toxin?" he asked the petrified security guard standing before him.

"Please... Don't hurt me," he said, shaking so violently he dropped his torch on the floor. It smashed and they were plunged back into darkness.

"I think you need to lighten up," said the Joker, putting the blue grenade away. "Enjoy!" He chuckled as he threw the purple grenade, and ran down the corridor before the smoke began to pour out. The guard's ghastly laughter echoed through the hall behind him, stopping abruptly just as he reached the unveiled painting.

It was in a large, ornate gold frame, which the Joker thought would look perfect in the bedroom of their next hideout, wherever that happened to be. Perhaps it could go over the bed. Harley might like that. Another alarm started as he pulled off the velvet covering the painting. He paused for a moment to admire the fine oil brush strokes of the pretty jester in the painting. If only she were dressed in red and black...

"Put your hands up, Joker!"

He slowly turned around and raised his hands with a fiendish smile. "Oh dear, looks like you've got me."

There were three cops and a security guard standing around him; Renee Montoya was at the front, pointing a gun at him.

"You've got yourself a one-way ticket back to Arkham," she hissed, nodding at the two other men, who started towards him.

He chuckled quietly, and then giggled. Before the men could get near him he was screeching with unhinged laughter. The two officers looked at each other nervously, and Renee urged, "Quickly, get him."

As suddenly as he had started, the Joker stopped laughing. With a perfect poker face he said, "I don't think so," and dropped two small blue grenades from between his fingers. Thick, grey smoke billowed out around the officers, and while they were coughing he grabbed the painting and started to run, before the sleep toxin could catch up with him.

The painting was much heavier than he had expected – elaborate gold frames may look nice, but they're not practical for a good old-fashioned museum heist. He was starting to feel decidedly dizzy by the time he ran past the dead security guard with the ghoulish grin.

In his other pocket was a tiny vial of clear liquid. The antidote, or so Harley had said. That was one advantage to her friendship with the crazy plant lady, he supposed, but then a disturbing thought crossed his mind. What if this _wasn't_ the antidote? What if this was all some elaborate hoax of Harley's to get back at him for some imagined slight?

The room was spinning, dark colours began to swirl around and he was starting to feel as though he was turning upside down... There wasn't enough _time_. With his last shred of consciousness, he managed to drip some of the bitter liquid under his tongue.

Within seconds, he awoke again. The alarm was blaring louder than ever. Shame the Bat never turned up, he thought, as he watched all of the colours swim back into focus. He stood back up again, smiling in satisfaction at how well the antidote had worked. Perhaps he should have been more trusting after all, he thought, and resumed running for the exit.

The floor felt oddly spongy under his feet, and the darkness seemed too colourful somehow. Kaleidoscopes of colour started to invade his vision from every angle, and he got a surge of energy as though he had somehow entered a different plane of existence, a plane of dreams and shadows. The hole in the wall to the outside world was within view, within reach, but the waving, rippling walls began to stretch further and further away.

"What... What is happening?"

He carried on running, although he felt like he was running through treacle. The colourful corridor in front of him began to twist and turn, and he began to see faces in the shadows. The walls were covered in huge, laughing mouths with gleaming white teeth. _Are they laughing at me?_ He reached out to touch one, and it tried to bite him. He recoiled, nearly screaming, and sprinted to the door.

"HARLEEEEY!" he yelled. He laughed at how frightened he sounded. Confused, desperate. _What is going on?_

The car was on the other side of the building, he remembered, and ran out into the car park. He leapt into the first car he found, telling Harley to drive away as quickly as she could, but he realised suddenly that Harley wasn't there. He looked around him wildly. Handcuffs, a truncheon – shit, it was an empty police car. What was he doing in there?

As quickly as he'd jumped in, he slammed the door on his way out and started towards another car, one which was coming towards him. One with a confused harlequin at the wheel.

"Harley!" he called, and she looked up at him, opening the passenger door. Her face was a red and black psychedelic nightmare; he couldn't be sure whether or not her eyes were bleeding, and tentacles on her pointed hat waved at him menacingly.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" she asked impatiently. "Get in!"

The Joker hurriedly complied, shoving the painting roughly into the back.

"Jeez, what happened to you?" She couldn't help but laugh as the car sped away down the road.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, bewildered and enraged. "Where are we going?"

"Uh... Mistah J? You don't look so good." Harley studied him for so long she nearly swerved off the road. "Your pupils are like saucers and you're not makin' any sense."

"Tell me where we're going, Harley!" The Joker was livid; he raised his hand, but the harlequin's hat moved and hissed like snakes, and he flinched.

"We're goin' home, Puddin'," she said in a small voice. "It's okay... We got the painting... We're about to lose the cops -" she took a sharp left down a back alley "- everything is gonna be just fine."

The Joker remained pinned to his seat, gripping the handle on the door tightly, as the swirling buildings outside twisted and curled. He closed his eyes, trying his hardest to ignore the vivid, rainbow-coloured shapes on his eyelids.

"The vial!" he said suddenly. "What was in the vial?"

"The, uh, the antidote?"

The car swerved violently around a few corners. The sirens and flashing lights had gone now. They were safe, and Harley could give the Joker her full attention.

"Yes, the antidote!" His eyes narrowed as anger bubbled up inside him. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?" he growled.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, Puddin'," she said shakily. She was cowering away from him, but he didn't notice.

"You've poisoned me! You and your horrible Pammie... I'm hallucinating. I'm confused. It all started when I took that antidote!" His accusing finger was so close to her he could feel her warmth. He wanted to rip that treacherous bitch to pieces, but those snakes on her head were still hissing and gnashing their teeth.

They were nearly home. Harley stopped the car, glancing nervously at the Joker.

"Aren't you going to answer me?" he said.

"I didn't do nothin', Mistah J," she said sadly. "The antidote worked on me." She inhaled sharply. "Well, I do have more resistance to toxins than you do, so maybe... Maybe the antidote has more side effects on you?"

"_Side effects_?" he blasted. "It feels like I've eaten ten tabs of LSD! Anything could have happened out there! You're sabotaging me."

Harley cleared her throat. "Look, I'm sure if you just get some rest, everythin' will be okay. We're home now, you can have a lie down." She opened the car door. "You comin'?"

Shaking and disorientated, the Joker went through what felt like a dizzying portal into hell itself. He steadied himself on the roof of the car, watching Harley struggle to get the painting out of the back. Grimly, he staggered around towards her. He pulled out the handgun and pointed it at the dancing red and black pattern in front of him.

She gasped and dropped the painting. "Puddin'?" Her voice was strangled.

"You're not going to betray me again," he said, and fired a shot.

He heard a terrified scream, and the churning patterns in his eyes became a little less red, white and black. Harley was running, limping; heaven knew where she was going. He fired a couple more shots, picked up the painting and took it to the hideout.

With Poison Ivy locked away, where did Harley have left to go? He laughed coldly. Perhaps she'd finally learn her lesson this time.


End file.
